Traffic Control


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A short story about second chances and forgiveness.

An old love who inflicted a deep wound is back in Alaska. The woman is doing traffic control on the highway repair site. He has to pass her every time he drives from his office or the lumber yard to the job. The last time they were together was years ago in a motel room off Concrete Street in Anchorage. He woke up alone and started down a path that almost killed him. The stop sign she holds is correct; stop this and forget her name.

Every time he stops in the line waiting to be allowed to use the one-lane open, she is tempted to talk to him. But she ran out on him; left him to wake up alone in that room while she boarded a plane to Seattle. What could she say in her defense? Will he even acknowledge her? Leaving was a mistake. Is there any way to make it right between them?

Excerpt blog

Why did she come back? Adele thought it would be the first question out of his mouth. The radio crackled again, and her counterpart on the north end of the site let her know the semi with the car hauler would be the last vehicle on their end to go through. Her bunch waiting impatiently could proceed when the big rig cleared the gravel.

The semi rumbled past, and Adele moved to the left side of the one lane section. After turning the pole so the sign now said ‘slow,’ she gave the nod to the minivan, and the cars started forward.

All accept the red pickup. Ace came up next to her, and the truck came to a dead stop. “We need to talk. When are you off?”

Horns went off in the vehicles behind him. Ace Cronin raised one hand in the stop gesture. “Tell me. No bullshit or I’ll sit here all day.”

“Six tonight.”

“Don’t friggin run. I’ll meet you at the restaurant across from the VFW.”

Cover Final 7.16

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